Two Years of Words Much Like Poetry
Amazingly, for me, the two year anniversary of Words Much Like Poetry is a few short weeks away. Laughably, at the time I began this blog, I knew nothing of blogging and were it not for my cousin, I would likely still be ignorant of it. So, with her guidance and encouragement Words Much Like Poetry came into being.
Self-evolution is a wholly necessary, unavoidable fact of life and as I evolved the blog evolved—where I'm concerned the evolution was a marked moving from hiding behind the pseudonym Gladys Moore to the use of my real name, moving from the simplistic introspection of a five year long relationship gone bad into far more riotous concepts and imagery, to conceiving the true course I wish to chart for Words Much Like Poetry. However, I'll be keeping mum about what my goal is for the blog. There are a great many things that need to be done to accomplish that goal and regrettably I'm the superstitious sort. I believe it entirely possible to jinx a thing by speaking of it before it is fully realized. :)
In the coming weeks, reader, expect to see some of my and Antony's favorite poems being re-posted within article-like entries (I know how hard it can be to read through an ever growing list of posts and there are some poems that I feel shouldn't be overlooked).
Also, as the year itself draws towards its close, I would like to say a resounding "Thank you and happy holidays!" to all of our readers and followers. As well, I'd like to say thank you to Antony for agreeing to co-author this blog with me. Words Much Like Poetry would not be what it is now without you. Last, but certainly not least, thank you to our guest authors. I am honored that you chose us as a forum for your work.
Blessings,
Mũhu
P.S. We have a new writer on our team. I give you the Merovingian.
he walks the empty filled streets, hearing only the echo of his footsteps amid the thunder of a thousand walks. there exists only himself, haunted by a deep loneliness. an empty heartbeat is his only companion.
it has been a year since sadness befell him, and the magic of the enchanted stirred within. how can days be so empty, yet teeming with life? oh how the halls echo in his empty cry. her image haunts him, and agony halts his step, heavy and daunting.
she is his destiny, and she denied him
he cannot have another, her place can never be filled
when will this road paved with pain ever end?
the hopes within have withered, there stands only a weeping willow amidst.the future only reveals darkness, he sees not a minute to it.the shadows play pranks creeping about, shaping her ghoulish figure. the air of fairy wood paints her vividly in his mind. he longs for his tribulations to empty forth in a flood, but not even a trickle will oblige him.the coffers of the weeping will offer him no solace.
she is his life, he walks the realm of the dead while living.
he cannot embrace another, she only is his comfort
will he be ever free of this dungeon of the forlorn?
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